


It's a Wonderful Strife

by EveryHybrid



Category: Tales from the Gas Station
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryHybrid/pseuds/EveryHybrid
Summary: Spencer receives a nasty brain injury while on the job and lands himself in the hospital. The only phone number he remembers is the gas station's...
Kudos: 13





	1. The Call

Few things raised Jack's blood pressure like Jerry shouting from the front counter that he had a phone call. "Who is it?" He asked as he set the broom he was using to knock down cobwebs aside and slowly made his way up front.

Jerry shrugged. "I dunno. But he's askin' for ya'. A secret admirer, maybe?"

God, he hoped not. 

"Hello?" Jack spoke slowly into the phone that Jerry handed him. 

"Hey Jack."

Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh no. The voice on the other side was one he was familiar with. One he hoped to never hear again. 

"What do you want, Spencer?" He tried, and failed, to not sound absolutely terrified. 

"Oh shit, that _is_ my name, isn't it."

"What?" 

"I'm, uh, at some hospital. There's apparently been some kind of accident, and I just woke up. I can't really remember anything? Well, except this phone number and a few names. The doctors said it should wear off on it's own. I just need someone to help me out with a few things and I was hoping...you...could?"

Jack's mouth was hung open. This was a new low, even for Spencer. The fuck was he trying to pull here? How dumb did he think Jack was? Actually...Jack didn't want an answer for that. But playing _amnesia_? Really, dude?

"Yeah, right after I get done having lunch with Satan," Jack spat, proud of himself for the clever comeback. 

"What?" Spencer sounded genuinely confused. Jack didn't have time for these shenanigans. If Spencer was going to waste his time, he'd have to come do it in person. He hung up and debated whether or not this phone call was worthy of pestering O'Brien. Probably not. 

"Ol' Suspenster at it again, huh?" Jerry had snatched the broom Jack was using and was swinging it around like a samurai sword.

"Yeah. His bullshit was actually pretty creative this time. He must be getting bored." Jack tried to get the broom back, but Jerry just used it to motion like he was slicing Jack in half. "Whatever. When you get done, knock down those other cobwebs."


	2. Save the Spencer, Save the World

Rosa seemed troubled when Jack came in the next night to take over the register. "Everything go okay today?" Jack asked. He was afraid of the answer.

" Well…" And there it was. She bounced nervously on her feet. "Spencer called the store again." Dammit.

"Yeah? What'd he say?" 

"He said he was in the hospital and needed someone...well, _you_ to 'help him sort some things out'. He said he got a brain injury and couldn't remember anything other than that you guys were friends. His words, not mine."

"He actually said that?" Jack's face was an incredulous mix of disgust and 'I can't believe that shit'. "Well, what'd you tell him?"

"To lose our number."

Jack felt a pang of pride for Rosa. They chatted a little more about the outlandish tactic Spencer was using while Rosa counted down the till and gathered her stuff. Jack set his backpack down and settled in for a long, hopefully Spencer free, night. 

The phone rang around ten o'clock, and Jack pointedly ignored it until he remembered that the gas station didn't have voice-mail and it would probably ring all night if he didn’t answer it. He groaned as he stood up, dropped his book on the counter, and leaned over to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" His voice was less than thrilled. At first, the person on the other end of the line didn't say anything. Jack could hear a few sniffles and what sounded like someone trying to pull themselves together after ugly crying. 

"Jack?" It was him. 

"I don't have all night, Spencer. Please just get the threats out of the way and let me get back to my book." 

There was a pause. "Look, I don't know what I did to make you hate me, but you're the only person I can remember. I really need your help. They're going to release me in a couple days and I don't even know where I live. I've got tubes sticking out of my head and they said it could be days or _weeks_ before I start getting my memory back. I'm...I'm scared and I just want to know what's going on. _Please_ Jack…"

His voice broke again at the end of his spiel. Jack saw red. "You think you're real fucking funny, don't you?!" He yelled into the receiver, "You think calling up here and toying with me and my friends is a real treat, don't you?! Why don't you get a life and leave us the hell alone!"

Spencer was quiet for a long minute. Jack wondered if he hung up. But every few seconds, he could hear the sound of muffled crying. Finally, he spoke again. 

"I just want to ask a few questions." His voice was rough and croaky from the crying, but Jack wasn't convinced. He'd seen Spencer whip up fake crocodile tears before. This wasn't even a new trick. But, if humoring him would get him to leave Jack alone, then...

"Fine."

He could hear Spencer take in a deep, shaky breath. "Ok. Do you know where I live?"

Jack let out a cold laugh. "Ha! No."

"Do you know where I work?"

"You _were_ working for The Collector. I don't know who the hell you work for now."

"The Collector?"

"Yeah, you know, Brother Riley?"

"No?"

"You don't remember The Collector?" It hit Jack like a speeding train. " _You don't remember The Collector?!"_

A horrible, terrible thought occurred to Jack. What if he wasn't lying? What if Spencer _actually_ didn't remember anything? He was probably the only one of them playing with a full deck of cards; the only one who knew exactly what was going on. Spencer had been the wild card. Jack had been counting on his self-serving nature to not let the world he lived on end with a pain deity torturing everyone for funsies. If Spencer didn't remember...they _all_ might be boned. 

"Where, uh, where did you say you were again?"

"Medwin Medical Center. They have me in the neuro ICU."

Jack recognized the name as the large hospital he used to go to as part of his treatment. "That's four hours away." 

"They had to transfer me here. Apparently getting my skull crushed was a little too serious for the local ER." 

"Just so we're absolutely clear...you aren't messing with me right now?"

"Why the hell would I lie about something like this?"

"I don't know, Spencer, why would you try to trick me into shooting my hand off?!"

"What?"

"Nevermind. Shit. Okay. I'm off tomorrow, I _guess_ I could come up there and get this sorted out. But just so you know, I'm not doing this for you. This is for the fate of the world, okay?"

"What the hell?"

"See you tomorrow. Don't call again."


	3. The Ship of Middleton

Jack was eternally grateful for Jerry's willingness to humor him. When he'd explained the insane situation to Jerry, his biggest concern had been calling shotgun.

"You can't call shotgun," Jack rolled his eyes, "I need you to drive." Asking O'Brien for a lift was out of the question. Not only was she incredibly busy with her new promotion, but she'd probably slap the shit out of him for even _considering_ what he was about to do. 

The four hour long car ride was exacerbated by Jerry singing along to La Vie En Rose at full volume the whole time. His vocal range was impressive. 

When they finally arrived at the hospital, Jack had to fight from getting cold feet and calling this whole thing off. But this was the fate of the planet at stake. A fate that, as Spencer had never missed an opportunity to remind him, was all _his_ fault. Jack had made this mess. He needed to clean it up. And that included getting over his hatred towards his arch nemesis until things were set right. 

The nurse that led them up to the room seemed nice. She went on and on about how nice it was for them to visit, and how worried she was that poor, sweet Mr. Middleton wouldn't be able to find anyone to take care of him. Jack had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes right out of their sockets. He forgot just how charismatic Spencer could be when he was manipulating people. He came off as smooth, handsome, and smart, instead of the slimy bastard Jack knew him to be.

However, when they entered the room, the man laying in the bed was anything but smooth and handsome. 

"Holy shit," Jack blurted out. 

Spencer looked like he'd been hit by a truck, dragged a few yards, and then attacked by a drunk barber. Half of his head was shaved, with a small tube sticking out of his skull to drain the excess fluid from his brain swelling. The other half had been left to over grow into a dark, unkempt mess. He had a messy beard, which looked strange on his usually manicured face. His face, in fact, was purple and swollen. The rest of him looked as though he'd lost thirty pounds. At least Jack was now 100% certain he wasn't faking. 

"Jack? You actually came." Spencer sounded relieved. He looked at Jerry and furrowed his brow, as if racking his brain for a name.

"Er...Jimmy?"

"Close enough!" Jerry stepped forward and dropped the macaroni card he'd made into Spencer's lap. It read, "Get well soon, asshole" in dried pasta. 

"Oh...thanks. It looks great." Spencer gingerly picked up the card and set in on the bedside table. He winced as he moved. 

"What the hell happened to you?" Jack asked. He didn't think Spencer deserved the common courtesy of at least exchanging pleasantries before cutting to the chase. Spencer looked back up at him and shrugged.

"I don't remember. They said someone found me unconscious on a river bank somewhere in town. I was taken to the local hospital, then sent here. That was…" he paused, "Five weeks ago, I think? I only woke up four days ago, and I wasn't really able to call until the other day. It's been pretty rough." 

Jack couldn't help the part of his brain that was lighting up with pleasure at seeing Spencer in pain, suffering, brought down to the lowest low at last. This was the man who had viciously killed Vanessa in cold blood. Who had cost Jack a leg _and_ a finger. Who toyed with and tormented his friends. Or...was it. 

The other part of Jack's brain couldn't help but feel that this Spencer was a completely different person. He did enough reading to recognize that this fell into the thought experiment known as the Ship of Theseus. If an old, wooden ship was slowly replaced board by board until every last splinter was new, was it still the same ship? Was Spencer _Spencer_ without his memories and motivations? Or was this person in front of him someone completely new? He certainly wasn't acting like Old Spencer. Jack figured even Spencer couldn't put up the act for _this_ long. Not without gloating. 

"Well, we drove all the way up here. What do you need from us?" Jack decided to push the philosophy aside and move this awkward interaction along. 

"They want to release me once all the drains and tubes are taken out. I just need someone to sign my discharge paperwork as a caregiver. Also, I can't drive myself home...wherever that is."

" _Caregiver_?" Jack didn't sign up to babysit. And he certainly didn't want to be the one legally obligated to take care of Spencer Fucking Middleton. 

"It's just a liability thing for the hospital. Once I'm out, you don't have to actually do anything. I'm sure I can figure things out." He didn't sound sure, and looked even less so. Spencer seemed to realize that his past actions, despite having no idea what they were, had put him in a negative social position. Once he was no longer protected by the hospital and their obligation to keep him alive, he would be on his own. Alone. With no memory of who he was and no one to help him. Aside from Jack. 

Did Old Spencer deserve such a fate? Jack would have probably agreed in a heartbeat that this punishment was fitting. But now that he was actually looking at it, he wasn't so sure. It didn't feel right to keep punishing a guy who had no idea what he did wrong. 

Jack took in a slow, deep breath, preparing himself for the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "Why don't you...stay at our place...until you can get back on your feet." 

Jerry turned to Jack with a look of surprise, then grinned. "Oh, hell yeah! Sleepover!"


	4. In which they take Spencer home

Jack was glad he'd brought a book to read. As it turned out, sitting in a small hospital room, staring at each other, was boring as hell. Jerry entertained himself by coloring all over Spencer's bandages. Spencer had fallen into a morphine induced slumber not long after they'd arrived. 

A few hours in, a lady from physical therapy came in to wake Spencer up to do his walking routine. Apparently forgetting how to walk was pretty common with this type of injury. She asked if they wanted to stay, but all it took was one flash of bare ass from the open hospital gown, and Jack started packing his things. 

Not only that, but something about watching Spencer struggle to get to his feet and make laps around the small room was just... _sad_. 

With nothing better to do, they found themselves at the nearby mall. Jack wasn’t really one for shopping. In fact, he actively avoided places like this. But Jerry insisted they get the "big city experience" while they were here. The food court food was mediocre, but the ice cream cones they bought afterwards made up for it. 

"Do you think we should, I don't know, buy him some clothes while we're here?" Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea of Spencer's bare ass sitting on his car seats in that hospital gown. 

"Only if I get to pick them out!" Jerry said with mischievous excitement. Jack couldn't see why not. 

Jerry found the most appropriate store possible to buy clothing from: Spencer's. Jack thought the joke was low hanging fruit, but what did _he_ know. 

"Are you sure it's a good idea to give him that?" Jack asked warily as Jerry tried to judge what size shirt Spencer would wear. The shirt in question was gray and had the word "KILLER" written across it in big, black letters. 

"Totally!" Jerry was clearly enjoying himself, "Maybe it'll help him jog his memory, you know?" 

Jack had to reign Jerry in a little when he tried to buy suspenders and a tutu. The guy was just getting out of the hospital from a traumatic brain injury. As funny as the tutu would be, it seemed cruel. Even for Spencer. 

After some back and forthing, they finally ended up with the KILLER shirt, some pajama pants that said "This bitch loves Christmas" all over them, a My Little Pony t-shirt, some black joggers and a pair of black jeans because, according to Jerry, they should try to get Spencer to dress "scene" (whatever that meant), and some fuzzy Cookie Monster house shoes. 

By the time they made their way back, Spencer had his drains removed and was getting the last of his tests to ensure he'd survive long enough once released for the hospital to not get sued. They bagged up his belongings, which consisted entirely of the blood drenched clothes he'd been found in, and loaded him into a wheelchair. 

With Spencer squared away in the back seat of his car, facing what would probably be the longest four hour drive of his life, Jack had to wonder if what he was doing was a good idea. Here he was, taking a professional killer home with him, with the explicit goal being to keep him in their house until he regained his memories (which included hating Jack's guts), evil personality, and homicidal ideations. An agreement was made to keep this business as far from Rosa and Amy as possible. Rosa would freak out, and Amy would probably murder Spencer on the spot. 

Jack debated with himself over whether he wanted to catch Spencer up on the things that had happened so far, or just let the memories come back naturally. Finally, he settled with giving him _some_ of the story, being sure to leave out the part where Jack had almost decapitated him with a box cutter. 

"Damn," Spencer said when Jack finally got to the "reset" part of their latest adventure. "And you said you hallucinate things sometimes?" 

"Only sometimes," Jack said defensively, "And I'm mostly sure that most of that stuff actually happened. Jerry was there, he can vouch for me." 

"Sure can!" Jerry had one hand rested lazily on the steering wheel, the other holding his bottle of virgin "5Loko".

"Uh huh." Spencer was clearly not convinced. Whatever. Jack wasn’t going to waste his time trying to make him believe them. He'd figure it out when his memory started coming back. 

It was late when they finally pulled into the driveway. Spencer slowly pulled himself out of the car. He was relying on a walker for balance, since his was still a little off. Between that, the festive pajama pants, killer shirt, and fuzzy slippers, he was a real sight for sore eyes. 

Jerry showed him to the spare bedroom while Jack burned some grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. 


	5. Rosa VS The New Spencer

"That stuff you told me," He paused, "Did I really do all those things?" 

Jack had been enjoying some quiet time on the couch, reading, when Spencer came in, sat down, and made the silence awkward. Jack dog eared his page and set the book aside, sensing that he wouldn't be getting back to it for a while. 

"Yeah," He said curtly, "You did." 

Spencer's gaze drifted to the floor. Guilt was a strange expression to see on him. 

"It sounds like I was a real piece of shit." Jack struggled to hold back his impulse to agree. He could tell now wasn't the time to rub it in. "And your leg? I'm the reason you lost it?"

"Yeah. My pinky too, while we're taking tallies." 

"I'm sorry. I know there's not really anything I can do to make up for that...but I'm sorry." Spencer apologizing was just as surreal and uncomfortable as Jack imagined it would be. "And for you to still take me in like this? You're a good man, Jack." 

He couldn't help the short laugh that burst out of him. "Sorry," Jack said, "It's just that you used to take every chance you could get to tell me what a fuck up I was. This is kinda' weird."

Spencer tried to smile, but still looked miserable. "I'm sure." His face quickly fell. "Do you think...once I get my memory back...I'll go back to being, you know, _that guy_?" 

Jack looked over at him and noticed the mixed look of fear and anxiety that Spencer wasn't even trying to hide. He shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Well, if I do, I'm sorry in advance."

That was the end of that conversation. Jack only nodded and sat in the thick silence until Spencer mumbled something about "bathroom", slowly pulled himself to his feet with his walker, and shuffled away. Jack was left staring at the wall, wondering if that really just happened. 

The next few days passed about like that: long, awkward interactions and heavy silence. However, Jack couldn't help but notice that Jerry was really warming up to the new Spencer. Jack found them sitting by the fire pit the next night, roasting marshmallows and talking like old friends. The next morning, he woke up to Jerry making sugar cookies and Spencer sitting at the table, carefully decorating them.

"The doctor said to exercise his fine motor skills, right?" Jerry said when Jack gave him a look. He glanced over at the cookies, which were sloppily iced and sprinkled with Spencer's shaky hands. At least the last few looked decent…

Jack tried his best to not derive some sort of sick enjoyment from Spencer's current state. Whenever he saw him struggling with something as simple as hobbling down the steps, he felt a mixture of instinctive amusement and guilt. Did that make him a bad person? He wasn't sure. 

The knock at the front door came while Jerry was at work, and Jack was left with Spencer duty. He'd since given up his spot on the couch, lest he be dragged into another painful interaction, and was laying on his bed, reading. He only just barely heard the knock, and by the time he got there, Spencer had already answered it. Jack didn’t know what came over him. Maybe he was just trying to be helpful. Maybe he forgot that half the people in this town hated his guts, and the other half hadn't met him. Whatever the reason for his lapse in judgement, he was sure to learn his lesson.

Spencer howled as he fell against the wall, clutching his face painfully. He cursed loudly and stumbled back. Jack only just barely caught him before he fell and injured himself further. Once Spencer was upright, he peered into the doorway to see Rosa. She looked terrified, but also ready to kick ass. 

"Wait wait!" Jack said, getting between the two before this could go further south.

"Fuck!" Spencer spat as he continued rubbing his freshly maced eyes. 

"What's he doing here!" Rosa shouted, "And why does he look like that?!" 

"It's a long story," Jack said, "But we have to refrain from Spencercide for now, okay?" 

Rosa eyed the pitifully whimpering man behind Jack with the utmost suspicion. "Why don’t you come inside?" Jack offered, stepping aside to let her in. She gave Spencer a wide berth. 

Jack left Rosa in the living room while he walked the unsteady, and now temporarily blinded, Spencer to the kitchen to wash his eyes out. Once Spencer was safely sat in a chair, his face plunged into a bowl of cold milk, Jack returned to her. 

"Okay, so let me explain," He said.

"There better be a good reason you have that psychopath in your house!" Rosa was still upset.

"There is. Sort of. He's not exactly himself. He got some kind of head injury and he can't remember anything."

"Well good! It sounds to me like he got what was coming to him."

"Yeah, see, I thought that too, but he's probably the only guy who ever knew what was going on around here, and we need his memory if we're gonna' fight off that pain demon thing."

"Oh. Oh right."

"So, yeah, he's staying here until we can figure out what to do with him."

Rosa glanced towards the kitchen, where Spencer was sat at the table, still rubbing his eyes. She slowly stood and approached him from behind. 

"I'm sorry I maced you," She said in a professional tone, "It was just instinct."

"S'okay," Spencer managed. His eyes were bright red and swollen. Involuntary tears streamed down his cheeks. Rosa looked taken aback. She'd expected insults, or threats, or some other indignant response. She looked at Jack for answers.

"He's been really nice since the accident," Jack explained, "It's weird, but I think I'm getting used to it." He took the bowl of milk and dumped it, then gave Spencer a clean, wet washcloth. 

"Oh," Rosa eyed the man with both wariness and curiosity. Without thinking, she reached a hand out to pick at his half messy, half shaved hair. "They really did a number on this, huh?" She asked, trying to ignore the gruesome staples in his scalp. She withdrew and tapped her chin with her finger. "Why don't I see if I can salvage it? It's probably the least I could do after that crappy introduction." 

Spencer looked up at her. "That'd be nice, uh...Rebecca?" 

"Rosa, but I appreciate the effort."   
  



	6. Smoothies were harmed in the making of this chapter

Rosa dropped off the books she'd borrowed from Jack, her original reason for coming over, and offered to run to her apartment and get her hair cutting supplies. 

"Could we just go over there?" Spencer asked. His eyes had finally stopped burning, and he didn't seem to harbor any ill feelings about the whole misunderstanding. 

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Jack said skeptically, "I never saw the Old Spencer walking down the street, and there's probably a reason for that. We don't know how many enemies you ran around making, and if you got attacked right now, you'd be screwed."

"You're right," He sounded bummed, "I guess I'm just itching to get out of the house, you know?" It was pushing day four of Spencer being stuck inside, after five weeks of lying in a hospital bed. Jack couldn't really blame him for wanting to get out for a little bit.

"I know! We could make a disguise! That tutu would really come in handy right about now, huh, Jack?" Jerry nudged Jack in the side. 

"What are we gonna' do? Throw a wig on him?" Jack rolled his eyes. Jerry's face cracked into a broad grin, and Jack knew he'd just sentenced Spencer to a horrible fate. 

"I'll be right back!" Jerry flew down the hall to his bedroom. 

The bubblegum pink wig was part of Jerry's Halloween costume that year. The unicorn horn was still firmly glued to it. Jack had doubts that a wig that could be seen from space made for a good disguise, but what did _he_ know? At the very least, it was probably the least Spencer-y thing they could have possibly put him in. 

Jerry's disguise was...interesting to say the least. The long, curly bright pink wig, the "My Name is Jerry" t-shirt, the "This Bitch Loves Christmas" pajama pants, and Cookie Monster house shoes came together to make, Jack had to admit, someone that absolutely did not look like Spencer.

They all piled into the Nissan and headed over to Rosa's apartment. Rosa was a bit worried about Spencer knowing where she lived, but Jack reasoned that Old Spencer probably knew where they _all_ lived at one point. Spencer made a comment about how weird and stalkery that was, and the group generally agreed. 

Spencer had made significant progress with his mobility. He'd put the walker away just yesterday, and had been able to slowly traverse the stairs without threat of tumbling down them. It still made Jack nervous when he started making his way up the stairs to Rosa's door. He only later realized how strangely protective he was being. It was probably just because keeping Spencer alive would most likely save all their asses. He definitely wasn’t getting attached. 

"I think the best thing to do would be to cut it all even and start over, you know?" Rosa gently pulled the wig off Spencer's head to inspect his butchered hair. The shaved half had probably been buzzed down to the scalp at one point. It was at least grown out enough now to be beyond peach fuzz territory. Rosa gathered her supplies and had Spencer sit in one of her kitchen chairs. The buzz of electric clippers filled the air. Rosa was hyper focused on getting Spencer's hair even without cutting the new growth down any more. 

While she worked, Jerry and Lee, Rosa's roommate, started up a game of Super Mosh Twins. Jack gave Lee a wide berth. He hadn't forgotten the last time they'd met, even if everyone else had. 

"What do you think?" Rosa eagerly held up a hand mirror for Spencer to see his reflection. 

"It looks nice," He said simply. The buzz cut look certainly didn't suit him. Jack was so used to seeing him with that stupid undercut, that this looked jarring. Spencer clearly thought the same, but was being nice enough to not say it. It wasn't Rosa's fault; she hadn’t been given much to work with. 

"Hey, you guys wanna' stop for smoothies on the way home?" Jerry had just lost his 23rd match and stood to grab the car keys. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jack said, but he was immediately overruled.

The smoothie shop sat on a street corner in the middle of town. It doubled as a coffee spot and popular drug drop. Jack couldn't help but to constantly scan their surroundings while the others ordered. When it came to be his turn, he realized he'd been too busy being paranoid to look at the menu.

"What can I get you?" Asked the dead eyed teenage boy behind the register. 

"Uh," Jack squinted as he looked over the menu. He was about to pick when the glass doors of the shop were flung open, and the very person he had been the most worried about running into stormed inside. 

"Drop the cup, Middleton! Hands in the air where I can see them!" Amy saw right through Spencer's disguise and had her pistol drawn before any of them could even process what was happening. Spencer was frozen like a deer in headlights. Amy angrily grabbed him and spun him around, shoved him against the counter and forced his hands behind his back to cuff him. His banana-strawberry smoothie went flying, splattering every possible surface within a ten foot radius. The teenage boy behind the counter sighed, and slowly shuffled off to find a mop. 

"Amy stop!" Jack tried, but O'Brien wasn't hearing it. 

"I don't know what kind of sick fucking games you're playing, Middleton, but if you've hurt any of them, I swear to god you won't make it to the cell." 

"I didn't!" He yelped, "Please, someone, tell her!" 

"Hang on there, Amy-O, he's telling the truth," Jerry tried to step forward to calm O'Brien down, but she motioned for him to stop.

"Are you holding them hostage?" She growled, "Are you making them say that?" 

Spencer didn't have time to point out that, if he wanted to take hostages, bringing them to a smoothie shop would be a weird as hell choice. His body went stiff, and his eyes rolled back. 

"The fuck?" Amy pulled away from him. He started jerking and spasming seconds later. "Oh shit!" 

"Amy, get the cuffs off him!" For once, someone actually listened to Jack. O'Brien cursed again as she fumbled with her keys and unlocked the cuffs, allowing Spencer's arms to move without him hurting himself. Jerry rushed over to help her ease him to the floor. The wig fell free, and Amy caught sight of the staples on his scalp.

"What the hell is going on here?" She asked, not waiting for a response. "Someone call an ambulance!" 

Spencer's seizure lasted just in the ballpark of two minutes. The ambulance arrived shortly after and loaded Spencer's limp body onto a stretcher. 

"I should probably go with him," Jack said, already following the EMTs out the door. 

"I'm coming too. You got some explaining to do, Tripod." Amy followed him into the back of the ambulance. Spencer let out a soft, painful groan from where he laid on the stretcher. The EMTs were busy starting an IV to give him some meds, and immediately started asking questions about the seizure they'd just witnessed. Amy blinked and looked surprised when Jack told them about Spencer's recent surgery and amnesia. But, she kept her questions to herself until they were at least alone. 

The ride to the hospital was cramped and uncomfortable. Jack could feel the tension coming from O'Brien, aimed at the confused, smoothie drenched, and now drugged up man on the gurney. When they finally arrived at the hospital and were told to wait while Spencer was assessed, Jack buckled down to catch _absolute hell_ .   
  
  



	7. In Which Jack Townsend Vouches For Spencer, Hell Freezes Over

"After everything I've done to keep your scrawny ass alive, I can't believe you go out and adopt a serial killer like some kind of lost puppy!" 

Jack shrunk into the bench he was sitting on. Amy hadn't let up since they stepped outside to "have a talk". She was pacing in front him, shredding him to pieces. Jack tried to explain his reasoning for taking Spencer in, but she wasn't having it.

"And what happens when he remembers that he hates your guts and wants you dead? What then? Did you even think that far ahead?"

"Maybe a little. But he's been fine so far."

"That's great, Jack. I'm so happy he hasn't decided to murder you _so far_."

"I don't know what else to do with him, Amy, we don't even know where he lived! He doesn't have any transportation, no access to his money, no family, no friends...we can't just kick him out now, especially after this." He motioned at the hospital in general.

"I can cart him off to jail, and _that_ can be his new home. Free healthcare, free food-"

"Amy, _please_ . He doesn't...he's not the same guy. He doesn't deserve that." Jack could hardly believe the words coming out his mouth. Was he sticking up for Spencer _Fucking_ Middleton? Had hell frozen over? O'Brien seemed just as stunned.

"Do you hear yourself right now, Tripod? This is the same guy that beat the ever loving shit out of you and cost you a leg. He’s a psychopath and a murderer, not some charity case."

"Can we just give him a chance?"

Amy pinched the bridge of her nose, then looked down at where Jack was giving her puppy eyes. He'd picked that trick up from Jerry. 

" _Fine._ " Holy shit. He couldn't believe that actually worked. "But I want a daily check in. If you miss a day, I'm busting the door down and assuming the worst. And I'm buying you one of those grandma emergency alert necklaces."

Jack could live with that. "Thanks, Amy," he said, "You can come over whenever you want. No door kicking necessary." 

The doctor picked a convenient time to come outside and talk to them. Almost too convenient. If Jack didn't know any better, he'd think the guy had been watching him get his ass chewed by Amy and waiting until the danger was passed. 

"We have Mr. Middleton back in his room and squared away. You can come see if you'd like." The doctor beckoned them back inside. Jack stood and followed, Amy trailing behind with crossed arms and a frown. 

"Seizures are a very common side effect of this kind of injury," The doctor explained, "I've written some prescriptions for adjusted meds, so hopefully we can get them under control, but this sort of thing is just trial and error until we get it right. The CTs scans were clear, nothing too scary there. The best thing I can tell you to do is to keep an eye on him and hope it doesn't happen again. If it does, just help him to the ground, keep him clear of hard objects, and wait it out. If it continues longer than a few minutes, or if he doesn't come to or seems disoriented for longer than ten or so minutes after, get him back here." 

They rounded the corner and entered the room that held a pale and sickly looking Spencer. They had at least gotten him out of his smoothie stained clothes and cleaned him up a little. Spencer was now wearing a set of blue paper scrubs that looked like they were intended for a small giant. He gave Jack a weak smile and a wave.

"I'm still alive," He said in a croaky voice. "Hey, Amy."

"That's Officer O'Brien," Amy snapped immediately. 

"Oh. Sorry. Officer O'Brien." 

Jack slid his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and stood next to the stretcher. From here, he could see that the doctor had taken the liberty of removing the staples from Spencer's scalp. The surgical incision was completely healed together, although it would leave a nasty scar. 

"You ready to go home?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. That'd be great." 

The car door slammed behind him as he made his way towards the front door. Spencer was dragging a little. He was still not feeling well after the seizure. He'd insisted that he would be fine and just needed a hot bath and a nap. 

Jack almost fell back when he opened the door.

"SURPRISE!" Rosa and Jerry shouted as the two walked in. What the hell were they thinking? Were they trying to give Spencer another seizure? Did it work like that? Jack wasn’t sure…

A giant banner made of taped together pieces of printer paper spanned the living room. The words "Get Well Soon Because We Kinda' Care About You Now Even Though You Tried To Kill Us In The Past!" were sprawled across it in magic marker. Apparently, Rosa and Jerry felt so bad about the interaction at the smoothie shop that they'd thrown together a "Get Well Soon" party. Jerry even blended up a strawberry-banana smoothie to replace the one O'Brien had painted Spencer with, and he swore up and down that there was no added drugs or alcohol.

Spencer seemed overwhelmed. He sat down on the couch and stared at the hastily thrown together decorations and half assed party. 

"What do you think?" Rosa prompted him softly.

"It's, uh...it's great. I don't even know what to say."

"Then why are you crying?"

Spencer reached a hand up to wipe his tears away. Jack looked over at him, alarmed. But these tears didn't look like the typical sad ones, or tears from pain. Spencer sniffed. "I don't know."


	8. Winter Wonder

"Come on, Jack, ya' slowpoke!" 

"Hang on, I'm looking for my coat!"

"It's 50 degrees outside, dude. It's not even cold!"

"Just give me a minute, jeez!"

Jack emerged from the hall, tugging on his coat while he met Jerry and Spencer at the door. Jerry insisted that they do their annual Christmas tree shopping today, and since Spencer couldn't be left alone, or at least Jack didn't _want_ to leave him alone, he was coming along too.

A week had passed since the smoothie shop incident, and Spencer was looking, well, _normal_ again. He wasn't quite so pale, he was moving around better, he'd only had one more seizure, and he'd gained a little weight back. Jerry had to help him shave that scruffy beard he'd been working on. Watching Spencer go stone still while Jerry ran a straight razor over the gruesome scar on his throat had certainly been interesting. 

"Don't worry!" Jerry had said confidently, "I have the steady hands of a drunk spinal surgeon!" Shockingly, Spencer came out with no cuts, and a much more familiar face. Jack sort of wished he would have kept the beard. 

They all piled into the Nissan, which had just recently lost its air conditioning again. It was going to be a long winter without the heat running unless Jerry could work his voodoo to get it fixed. The old car cranked to life and groaned as it backed out of the driveway.

The tree lot was across town. Jerry stopped at a drive thru and bought a round of hot chocolate for everyone, as per tradition. Jack was still sipping his as they pulled up. Spencer looked a little confused.

"I always thought people just went out and, I dunno', cut one down themselves."

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal in most areas," Jack said, "Property laws and all that. I guess your family had a fake tree, huh?"

Spencer shrugged. "I don't remember."

Oh, right.

Jerry led the charge up the aisles, in search of the perfect tree. If experience was anything to go by, that either meant the biggest and most impressive, or the smallest and saddest. 

"Nobody will adopt him if we don't," Jerry had said sadly last year as he looked down at the pathetic sapling. Jack was, honestly, indifferent. Spencer, on the other hand, actually had some input other than Jack's "Yeah, that one looks great, Jerry." Jerry seemed thrilled to have someone who would actually talk tree banter with him.

"I dunno...this one has a hole right here. It doesn't seem very full," Spencer gestured at the tree in front of them. 

"You are absolutely right! Good eye, Spency Boy!" 

Jack never dreamed in a million years that he'd hear Spencer being referred to as "Spency Boy", and not murder the person who said it. Spencer just nodded knowingly and moved down the row. 

He stopped at a tree a few yards up and looked it over. "Now this is a good tree!" He walked around it, searching for holes. A bright pink price tag flipped around in the wind on the end of a branch, catching his eye. Spencer froze. Jack noticed his change in posture immediately, and for a second, he was afraid Spencer was having another seizure. But Spencer snapped out of it a few seconds later.

"I...remembered something," He said softly. He had both of their full attentions now. "I think I know where my car is." 

Jerry hastily paid for the tree Spencer had picked out and got it strapped to the roof of the old Nissan. They all got in and sped towards Old Bob Hoover's Christmas tree farm. 

The once dense lot of fir trees had been hacked and harvested, making it easy to see the barb wire fence all the way on the other side. Sure enough, as they crossed the field of stumps, Spencer's black Mustang came into view. Once shiny and sleek, the Mustang was now covered in tree sap and pine needles from sitting outside for so long. Spencer cupped his hands and peered inside at the immaculate interior.

"Damn. I got good taste in rides, huh?" 

Jack rolled his eyes, while Jerry walked around inspecting the car. "Anyone opposed to me hotwiring this bad boy?"

"Wait...check the front right tire."

Jerry did just that, and sure enough, the key was sitting right there. Whatever Spencer had been doing, he hadn't wanted to risk taking his car fob with him. It was a good thing current Spencer remembered it was there.

"Sweet!" Jerry excitedly remote started the car. "Too bad your car doesn't do that, huh, Jack?"

"Gee, thanks."

"I mean...it can…" Spencer said slowly.

"Yeah, I mean technically, I guess. But the cost of installing one of these on the Nissan would be more than the whole thing is worth," Jerry helped himself to the driver's seat and began pawing around inside the console out of curiosity. 

"No, I mean _this_ could be Jack's car. Well, both of yours, I guess." 

Jack's mouth hung open as he turned to face Spencer. "Are you being serious?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like _I_ can drive it. Not with the seizures and all." 

He had a point. Jack looked back at the Mustang. What would it be like to have a car that wasn't constantly inches from death? That was reliable? That was, dare he say it, _cool_?

Jack slowly walked around to the passenger side door and opened it to inspect the inside. "Oh my god, it has heated seats!" This was awesome! "Oh, wait." Jack pulled his head back out. "We should probably check the trunk."

If memory served, Old Spencer had kept a small arsenal in the trunk of his car. Jack figured it would be a good idea to check for bodies or incriminating evidence while they were here. Jerry popped it, and Spencer was the one who's jaw dropped this time.

"Holy shit! What the hell was I doing out here?!"

Honestly, the collection of military grade weapons was slightly smaller than Jack had anticipated. Spencer must have lost a couple guns in whatever fight landed him in the hospital. Spencer, on the other hand, was completely caught off guard. Jack had to wonder if he even remembered how to use these things now.

"Honestly?" He said, "Probably something shitty. Maybe Benji could get some use out of these, though." Jack slammed the trunk shut and went to get in the passenger seat out of habit. Then he stopped, and offered it to Spencer instead. It was still technically Spencer's car, after all. Spencer turned him down though, and Jack wasn’t about to argue. Those heated seats were _heaven._

Jerry drove the Mustang home, then went back on foot to get the Nissan with the tree strapped to the top. Jack felt a little bad, but then he remembered the trek Jerry used to make from the Mathmetist compound to work every day, and sometimes just for fun. He'd be fine.

In the meantime, he set up camp in the living room and went through the old Christmas decorations his foster family had left. Each year, they checked to see which string of lights had died. Spencer seemed to be enjoying himself, and Jack had to wonder what kind of Christmases he'd had growing up. Sure, Jack's hadn't been great. But the way Spencer's eyes lit up when Jack plugged in all the bright and colorful decor, like he'd never seen anything like it before, made Jack think that Spencer's hadn't been either. 


	9. A Bad Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to post. It's been busy around here >.>

Jerry hauled the tree inside while Jack did his best to help. Spencer, still not quite ready for heavy lifting, could only supervise the job. They set it up in a corner and Jerry immediately went to work decorating it. He insisted they watch the Hallmark channel and all the shitty Christmas movies it pumped out on a seemingly daily basis. He also insisted on getting hammered, but, seeing as neither Jack nor Spencer were supposed to mix alcohol with their medications, he would be doing that alone. 

With the tree lit and trimmed, the three of them settled in for a cozy movie night. Spencer was asleep on the recliner before they even finished The Nine Lives of Christmas, which meant Jack was alone in his efforts to console the crying Jerry and gently scoot him away from his "let's go adopt five cats right now" idea.

By the time they made it to Mingle All the Way, Jerry was asleep and slumped against Jack, and Jack was curled up against the arm of the couch, awake, but still cozy and very content. He had several hours before his next shift at the gas station, and he could happily spend them like this.

It was the next morning that Jack brought Benji back to the house to let him inspect Spencer's old gun collection. He did this after carefully explaining that Spencer wasn't an enemy (currently), and wasn't to be shot to pieces like Benji might have liked. Surprisingly, he was pretty okay with that. Maybe being a mimic had dulled Benjamin's memory of Spencer's KO'ing him with a shovel. Jack certainly wasn't about to remind him. 

Benji looked over the gun collection and grunted. "It's a good haul," He said, "But you know I don't have any money to pay for these."

"That's okay," Jack said, "I honestly just want them as far from the house as possible." 

"If you say so." He just shrugged and started gathering the weapons. Benjamin's new vehicle, an old beater just like Jack's, sat in the driveway. Benji loaded up the trunk in an impressively short two trips. What was it like to be super strong, Jack wondered. 

"Well, let's see him."

"What?" Jack was pulled from his daydream and looked up at Benji. 

"Spencer. Where's he at?"

"You're not gonna, I don't know, go Rambo on him are you?" 

Benji shook his head. "Nah. I just wanna' see how hard someone had to hit him to make him go soft." 

"Okay, well, as long as _you_ don't hit him, you can go see him. Last I saw him, he was helping Jerry clean out the fire pit."

Benjamin headed inside with a smirk and eager glint in his eye. Jack followed him closely behind, as if there was anything he could do to stop Benji from pulverizing Spencer if he wanted to. Benji went straight for the back door and threw it open.

"Middleton!" He hollered, "I heard you lost yer' nuts. Come here!"

Spencer looked up from where he was picking unmelted trash out of the firepit and froze at the behemoth of a man approaching him. A look of fear flashed across his face, and he looked around as if searching for a weapon, or at least somewhere to take cover. 

"Benji!" Jerry said with a big, dopey grin, "What brings you to our humble abode?"

"Just seeing an old friend!"

Spencer slunk up to the large man, glancing between him and Jack. He clearly had some reservations about meeting Benji. Given his past experiences with Jack's friends, Jack couldn't blame him. 

As soon as he was within reach, Benji clapped Spencer on the back with a massive hand that almost sent him sprawling to the ground. 

"You got a good taste in guns, son. Or at least you did, before your noggin got all scrambled. Why don't we take some of 'em out and see if you remember how to shoot!"

Jack was genuinely surprised that Benji was offering to hang out with Spencer voluntarily. Taking him off to shoot guns, on the other hand, rubbed Jack the wrong way.

"Maybe we shouldn't-" He was cut off.

"Yeah. Yeah I guess we could," Spencer still seemed reluctant, but he gave a weak smile. He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but was too damn nice to say so. 

"That settles it. I'll be by after work Tuesday, and I'll bring the best in my arsenal!"

" _Here_?!" Jack was, yet again, ignored.

"Awesome!" Jerry shouted with excitement, "I'll mix up a new batch of 25Loko!"  
  
  



	10. Happily Ever After?

This was a bad idea. Jack could feel it in his bones. But everyone else ignored his gut feeling as Benji toted his enormous bags of guns into the backyard. There, he'd set up several targets. Spencer looked almost as nervous as Jack did. Jerry was already drunk. 

Benji didn't seem to think anything of handing a loaded firearm to a man who'd recently suffered a traumatic brain injury and could barely hold his hands steady. Benji wasn't the most diligent when it came to gun safety. 

But something happened when Spencer's hands took their familiar hold on the semi-automatic rifle. Suddenly, his grip was as steady and as solid as ever. Like a well oiled machine, he raised the gun and took aim at the first target, fired without hesitation, and perfectly obliterated the center of the bullseye. Jack could see, for just half a second, that eager, malicious glimmer return to Spencer's black eyes. He could feel his stomach churn.

Spencer lowered the gun, and just like that, the old Spencer was gone again. 

"Whoa," He said softly, "That was...so cool! Did you guys see me hit that thing? I had no idea I could do that!" Muscle memory was a strange thing, and, as Jack would find in the days to come, it wasn't isolated to just guns.

Over the next few weeks, Spencer's recovery began to look more and more promising. He began an exercise regime with Benji that both improved his coordination and regained some of the muscle he'd lost in the hospital. 

"Are we sure we want to beef up the guy that will inevitably turn on us and try to kill us all?" Jack's concerns were, as per usual, ignored. 

Once he was able to function, mostly, normally, Spencer brought up getting a job at the gas station so he could start paying rent. He felt bad mooching off of Jack and Jerry with no real contribution to the household. For once, Jack saw no issue with this. Spencer's seizures were under control with his medication, and it got him out of the house so he and Jerry could have some alone time.

Bits and pieces of the old Spencer slowly began to shine through this new Nice Spencer's personality. He started getting that same cocky, overconfidence that Jack could only roll his eyes at. Spencer still wouldn't shut up about that tentacle monster he'd saved them from at the gas station a week ago. 

He started to adopt the old Spencer's style: a mix between punk rock and total fuck boy. Spencer even started to _sound_ like old Spencer. But, funny enough, the old Spencer's hate, blatant anger management issues, and thirst for violence never returned.

Then came the day that Jack had dreaded since this insane adventure began. He was home alone, Christmas night. Jerry had gone out to Rosa's place to take her cookies, and Jack was too socially exhausted to visit. Spencer came in from the cold, just getting back from a late jog, and flashed an all too familiar smirk.

"Hey Jack. You miss me?" 

A chill ran up his spine. That very second, he knew. He knew Spencer knew. He knew Spencer knew that he knew. Spencer looked almost as startled as _he_ did.

Jack slowly put his book down and stood, taking an apprehensive step back. "What did you say?" He didn't know why he felt the need to pretend they didn't both know exactly what was happening here. 

"It just slipped out! I don't know where that came from." Spencer looked desperate for Jack to believe him, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag now. Jack was on to him, and there was no way to take it back. He looked down at the floor and let out his breath, only just now realizing he'd been holding it.

"I...I remember everything," He admitted softly, "I have for weeks now." Spencer slowly looked up at Jack, who was visibly paler. "But it's not like that, okay? I'm not...that guy anymore than I was when you picked me up at the hospital. I know I did shitty stuff back, well, _before_ , and I can't really explain why I felt the need to be that way. But it's gone now. And I feel _happy_ and I have friends and, I don't know, I feel like we're sort of a family. I've never had that before. Please understand, Jack, _please."_

His eyes were tearing up, and Jack was certain he was mere seconds from dropping to his knees and all out begging. Jack slowly relaxed his tense muscles and glanced away.

"Oh." What was he supposed to say to that? He'd just found out that the cold blooded killer was back and, what, he felt _sorry_? He was suddenly sentimental? 

Jack slowly lowered himself back onto the sofa, eyes never leaving the man in front of him. If Spencer bit his lip any harder, he'd probably put a hole in it. "I won't tell them," Jack said, already feeling the _this is a mistake_ alert going off in his head. "You have to. Whenever you're ready. But any funny stuff, and you're out of here; you remember what Amy said."

"How could I forget? I don't get threatened with decapitation often." He shrugged and chuckled, then absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on his neck and regretted his words. "Er…"

Thankfully, Jerry picked then to bust into the door and break the awkward tension. "Hey fam! Rosa and I swapped cookies!" He held up a tin of Rosa's famous jam cookies and was completely oblivious to what had been taking place moments before.

"Oh, let me help you clear a spot on the counter." Spencer seized the opportunity to flee Jack's gaze and made for the kitchen.

And like that, it was over. Spencer was true to his word. He was different after the accident. Whatever violent tendencies had possessed him were gone. Jack wasn’t sure he'd ever get used to the sight of his former foe stocking shelves in the gas station and singing under his breath. But...he supposed stranger things had happened.  
  



End file.
